


The Thin Line

by Gemmma1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-09-17 17:02:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16978506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmma1/pseuds/Gemmma1
Summary: The war is over, Hogwarts has reopened, and everyone has returned to finish their final year. Life is mostly back to normal. But not for Draco Malfoy. Many years ago Lucius Malfoy did something unspeakable, and his actions are having unexpected consequences. Now Draco's future depends on Ginny Weasley of all people, and neither of them is exactly happy about the situation.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for mature audiences only, and contains adult situations and language. Please be aware, because of magical situations there may be situations of dubious consent. 
> 
> This is my take on the Veela Draco trope (I know, I know). It is cannon compliant up through the middle of HBP, and then AU after that. Dumbledore survived that night on the astronomy tower, and convinced Draco to escape the Death Eaters. Hogwarts closed while the war raged against Voldemort, and now the survivors have returned to pick up where they left off.

 The pit in the bottom of Draco Malfoy’s stomach continued to grow. When the feeling had first appeared, he’d worried that the stress was finally getting to him. If Hogwarts had been bad before the war, being back as the son of a disgraced Death Eater unbearable. He’d thought about asking Madam Pomfrey for a calming draft when it had first begun, but rejected the idea. Only homesick first years took calming drafts.

But then the pain had continued, and he began to realize he wasn’t just cracking up under the pressure, which had been simultaneously relieving and disconcerting. It had been days now, of this dull, hungry ache, and it was getting worse each passing moment. He was sweating, he realized, and that settled it for him. If there was anything Draco hated more than looking weak, it was sweating. So with a resolved sigh he began to walk to the hospital wing. His feet were oddly heavy, like he was trudging through water, and his vision began to blur.

In the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey was bandaging the arm of a rather disgruntled second year, lecturing him about the dangers of horseplay in the potions dungeon.

“Madam Pomfrey,” Draco said.

She glanced back at him, and sighed heavily, turning back to the second year. “Mr. Malfoy. What are you dying of today?”

Sure, he didn’t like going to the hospital, but that didn’t mean it didn’t have its uses. He’d successfully skived off more classes than any other seventh year.

“I’m not sure,” he answered, with difficulty. He was having a hard time standing.

Madam Pomfrey tisk tisked, but didn’t glance back at him until the second year nervously pointed out that he’d fainted.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

“Draco?”

He woke slowly, in a bed that wasn’t his.  He rolled over slowly and found himself looking into the muted blue eyes and half-moon spectacles of Albus Dumblerdore. The head master smiled at him, as he pulled himself up and took inventory. He was in a hospital gown, and the curtains around him were drawn closed. His chest ached, but softer now, and he suspected the pain in his stomach were actual hunger pains this time.

“Mr. Malfoy. How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He his head had the foggy feeling of having slept too long. He wondered how long he’d been in bed.

Dumbledore chuckled, “From what I’ve been told, it would have been a more promising sign of your recovery if you’d said you were in agony. But you do look well enough to walk, yes?” Draco nodded. “Well then I would request you get dressed and meet me in my office. I’m afraid we have much to discuss and I prefer to do so privately. I’ll give you a few moments to get washed up.”

Dumbledore disappeared behind the curtains, and Draco stood up. All things considered, he still felt awful, but at least the dizziness and the sweating were at least gone. He found his uniform folded at the foot of his bed and quickly got dressed and washed his face in the basin. Madam Pomfrey appeared with a small vial of pepper-up potion, and told him in no uncertain terms that he was not allowed to go anywhere, not even on the headmaster’s orders until he drank it. He drained the vial in one gulp and made his way to Dumbledore’s Office. He didn’t know the password, but the moment he stopped outside the door, the gargoyle swung aside granting him access.

“Please sit,” Dumbledore invited, and the chair across from him eagerly scooted out from under the desk. “I know you must want to know what happened to you. I believe I may have some answers for you, but first I wonder if you would be so kind as to tell me what you experienced leading up to this episode.”

Draco told him. About the pain in his chest, the feeling of his insides being squeezed in a vice, the feeling of hunger and thirst that was never sated. Dumbledore listened carefully, nodding occasionally, but did not interrupt until he was finished.

“So I’ve been cursed?” he concluded.

“Why would you think that, Draco?” Dumbledore asked, staring evenly at him across the large oak desk.

Draco shrugged. There were more than a few people who would want to curse him. “I wouldn’t be sitting here if it were just a touch of dragonpox.”

The headmaster smiled kindly. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. But to answer your question, I don’t believe you’ve been cursed, but I do strongly believe that the cause of you illness is magical in nature. I’m sure it comes as no shock to you that the Malfoys have some veela ancestry?”

Draco nodded. His father had always vehemently (and sometimes violently) rejected the suggestion. He didn’t tolerate anything that could bring the purity of their bloodline into question, but it was hard to look at a Malfoy and not see the connection.

“I have had reason to suspect for a while now, that your father had a particular fascination with his veela ancestry, even if he denied it. Veelas always had an alliance with Voldemort, but like the giants and the werewolves his control over them was tenuous, at best. They could not be fully controlled and they lacked the finesse Voldemort preferred in his followers. They are…unpredictable. Tremendous warriors, of course, but not much use to him outside of the battlefield. How much more valuable would they be if he could fully control them? If he had a contingent of followers so charming they wouldn’t even need the Imperious curse? They could get whatever they wanted from a man, simply by asking.”

Draco could not see how this history lesson could possibly be relevant. There were a lot of things his father had been wrong about, but the fact that Dumbledore was stark mad and going madder all the time was not one of them, in his opinion. Brilliant as they came, but mad nonetheless.

“Did you know that veela _must_ seduce humans? It’s in their nature. Starved of human intimacy, they die. Can you see at all where this is going, Draco?”

“Not in the slightest.” _You barmy old tosser_ , he added mentally.

“You’ve been asleep two days, Draco. Every healer from St Mungos has been in to see you, and aurors specializing in cursebreaking, as well. There was no sign of a curse or jinx, or hex, or poison. No medical ailment, magical or otherwise, could explain what was wrong. With rest and strengthening potions you improved, but no one knows for sure what happened with you.”

Draco’s eyebrows were knit together in bemused concentration. Two days? “I’m not sure I understand, Headmaster.”

“About eighteen years ago I heard a rumor from an Order informant that your father was snatching up every blackmarket supply of veela blood. And now, eighteen years later, his child sits in front of me complaining of thirst water can’t quench and hunger food can’t fill- coincidentally, exactly how it is rumored to feel for a veela who is deprived of human intimacy.”

Draco stared at him, incomprehensively, “Are you implying that he… what? Somehow turned me into a veela?”

“I’m implying that your father was a very dedicated man with vast resources. I’m implying that there is not much your father would not have done, even to his family, if the Dark Lord ordered it. Do you disagree?”

He did not say it unkindly, but they both knew Draco couldn’t disagree. Lucius Malfoy had personally tried to strangle him after he refused to take the dark mark.

“There’s one rather glaringly large hole in your theory, headmaster. While I _am_ devastatingly attractive, it may surprise you to learn I am not a woman. And veela are, as I recall, uniquely, definitively female.”

“Yes, I had considered that,” the headmaster replied wryly. “But as we don’t know exactly what your father may have accomplished or how he did it, we cannot assume that the usually rules apply to you. We are in uncharted territory.”

Draco thought about this for several moments. He had suspected for a while now that whatever was happening to him was serious, but this? This was mad.

“So what now? Are you- are you telling me I’ll…die?” He steeled himself to look up from his lap and into Dumbledore’s eyes. His headmaster smiled kindly at him.

“Let us not get ahead of ourselves, Mr. Malfoy. For now, everyone agrees your current condition is stable. How do you feel? Are you in any pain?”

Draco considered this. His chest still hurt, but it was a dull ache, not the crushing pressure he’d experienced the last few weeks. His head was somewhat clear for the first time in days. He considered his options carefully. They’d kept him at Hogwarts rather than confining him to St Mungo’s mostly, he suspected, because with his father dead and his mother in hiding, there was no one to take responsibility for him. If he played up his pain too much, however, they would likely have no choice. No, that was not the way to go. Batty old man that he was, Draco was sure if there was anyone who could figure out what was wrong with him, it was Dumbledore. He wanted to stay nearby.  

“Yes,” he answered honestly, “But it’s bearable.”

 “For now, I suggest a return to normalcy as our best course of action. We still don’t know what triggered your episode. It could be as you age, the veela blood becomes more active, or it could be the result of some trigger we do not yet recognize. It could very well be, as magic often is, a total fluke. We will track your…symptoms. You will continue to get a strengthening draft from Madam Pomfrey, in the meantime. And you will report _immediately_ to her if your pain becomes worse. The password to my office is ‘treacle tart’ if you should ever need it. But if we have any hope of sorting this out, I’m going to need your promise of absolute honesty with me. Do I have your word?”

Draco nodded his ascension.

“Good. In exchange, I will give you mine. You may not like what I tell you. We may not be able to come up with a solution, but we will do whatever we can, Mr. Malfoy. Now, would you like me to tell you more about your father?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

_One would think that finding out your father may have experimented on your pregnant mother and turned you into a magical monster might buy you the slightest bit of leeway with your transfiguration homework_ , he thought, bitterly.

But McGonagalll, the old bat, had insisted on two rolls of parchment on the mechanics of animating inanimate objects due by the end of next week. It had been two days since he’d left the infirmary and returned to classes. Each morning he’d woken up with two fresh vials on his nightstand- a strengthening potion, and something to dull pain. The potions seemed to be doing their work. The pain was kept at bay- a small background noise in his otherwise normal routine. But there was also something new. His body seemed to be humming, constantly on edge, like a tiny electric current was flowing through his veins. He wondered if it was the potions, or something else altogether. He debated whether or not to include it in his owl to Dumbledore, and eventually decided there was no harm in it. He had, after all, promised to be as honest as he could. He scrawled the note quickly and sealed it before sending it off with a school owl.

His dormitory was mostly empty. Hogwarts had closed for a year during the war, and after the final battle where Voldemort was defeated, most of the students came back to pick up where they had left off. Slytherin, however, was noticeably sparse. Many of the sixth and seventh years had fought on Voldemort’s side and were hiding from the aurors. Some of them were dead. Most couldn’t bear coming back to Hogwarts in disgrace.

Everyone knew Draco had betrayed Voldemort at the last minute. The details of his deal to betray the Death Eaters’ meeting places in exchange for the Order protecting his mother were widely known. He hadn’t wanted to return to Hogwarts either, but there was nowhere else for him to go. Malfoy Manner was, by all rights, his now, but the Aurors were still sorting through the assorted nastiness that was his father’s personal dark arts collection and he would not be permitted to return until they finished their investigation. His mother was still in hiding, at his insistence. She had tried to contact him when the war ended, but too many of Voldemort’s followers were still out there for her to be safe. He’d ordered her to stay hidden. He wasn’t really safe either, at least outside of Hogwarts, and so he’d begrudgingly returned. He’d been most worried about the reaction of his fellow Slytherins, almost all of whom had lost parents or friends in the war. But for the most part, they didn’t treat him any differently. He’d lost his father in the war too. If anything, they had been more understanding of his predicament than any of his other classmates- if there was one thing Slytherins understood, it was putting your own self-interest first.

The rest of the school had been emphatically less gracious. The sorting hat’s song this year had been all about mending walls and repairing friendships and school unity, but that didn’t stop the poor first years who had been sorted into Slytherin from being booed mercilessly, and it didn’t stop the boots from appearing anonymously in the hall to trip him, or the time that all of the Slytherins’ food in the great all had been transfigured into live, writhing earthworms.

It didn’t matter much though. He only had one year left. In one year, the investigation would be over, the remaining support for the Dark Lord would be either rounded up and serving time in Azkaban or driven underground, and he would have his NEWTS. He could last a year.

At least, that had been the plan. He didn’t want to think about what Professor Dumbledore had told him. Love was not encouraged in the Malfoy household, but he had always held his father in great esteem. His father was powerful, and incredibly accomplished at getting what he wanted. He had been the perfect example of everything Draco himself wanted to be. Until, of course, Draco had told him he had reservations about getting the Dark Mark and Lucius had said he would Imperious him and make him kill his mother with his own hands if he ever even hinted at something so traitorous again.

That was the moment Draco had begun plotting against him. He felt guilty about his father’s death, but he’d at least had good memories of his father. He could tell himself his childhood had been the result of if not love, at least mutual respect, and that the end had been the last ditch efforts of a desperate man. But now- if Dumbledore was right, then his father had never cared about him at all. Not even as the heir of Malfoy. He’d been willing to experiment on his own wife, injecting her with veela blood while she slept, slipping it into her food.

Dumbledore speculated he must have stopped the moment he realized the child was a boy- an unlikely veela. He never probably never even suspected it could have worked.

Draco put the lid on his inkwell and rolled up his parchment. He wasn’t going to get any more work done tonight.

He had strange dreams that night. Dreams of warmth and sunshine, glimpses of red, and something that smelled like orange blossoms. He woke up the next morning somehow surprised to find himself alone. The room felt strangely cold, and he noticed with dismay that the hungry feeling in his chest was growing. He downed the vials of potion on his nightstand, and felt his head clear a little and the pain retreated to the back of his mind.

He ate breakfast with Blaise Zambini- the only other seventh year Slytherin boy who’d returned- and Millicent Bulstrode. From the head table, Dumbledore caught his eye and gave him a reassuring smile, but Draco did not feel reassured. He listened to the two sixth year girls next to him chatter away about Frederick Costa, a famous chaser. They didn’t know what team he played for, but Draco did learn he apparently had a very fine arse.

Blaise had just asked him to pass the pepper when a familiar scent wafted through the air. Orange blossoms. He inhaled deeply and the smell sent a jolt of pleasure through his whole body that settled pleasantly between his legs. He whipped his head around looking for the source, but saw nothing unusual in the sea of faces.

“You- er- you alright, mate?” Blaise asked, staring at him in surprise. “You feeling sick again?”

“No,” Draco answered, struggling to keep his voice level. “I just thought I saw something. I was wrong.”

Blaise didn’t press him. The smell was gone, but Draco’s whole body was tingling now. The jolt that had passed through him was electric. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and gooseflesh prickled his arms. Worst of all, Draco realized with embarrassment that he was half hard. What the fuck was happening to him?

He sat quietly a few more minutes, forcing slow even breaths until he could stand without letting the rest of the Great Hall see what an eventful breakfast it had been for him.

The rest of the day passed without incident. He wondered that night, if he should tell Dumbledore. This was, after all, clearly related to whatever was happening to him, but he dismissed the idea almost as quickly as it had come to him. There was no way in hell he was writing to tell his headmaster the smell of orange blossoms had put him at half-mast.

The dreams returned that night. He recognized the smells, the warmth, as the same, but the dream was also different, more turbulent. This time there was no sunshine. He woke up just before midnight, choked with anxiety and gasping for breath. He barely paused to pull on a robe as he ran out the door, Blaise making loud unhappy noises as he slammed the door behind him.

The staircases were on his side, and he made it to the headmaster’s office in only three minutes at a dead run. He yelled out the password as he ran straight toward the gargoyle, who only barely had time to slide out of the way in time to let him pass. Behind him, it fluttered its stone wings in annoyance. Dumbledore looked up at him in surprise and then snapped to attention.

“Draco-“

“She’s crying,” Draco interrupted, doubling over, his hands on his thighs as he gasped for air.

“ _Draco are you okay?”_

The force of Dumbledore’s concern caught him off guard. “Yes, yes- _I’m fine_ ,” he waved a hand dismissively, “But she’s frightened! We have to find her!”

“I pride myself on knowing a great many things. And yet I find I haven’t the foggiest what you’re talking about,” the headmaster replied cheerfully. He put his hand on Draco’s back and guided him down into a chair. “Now, if you would be so kind as to enlighten me. Who is crying Draco?”

“I don’t know!” Draco almost screamed in frustration. “ _Her!_ The girl from the dream! She was crying somewhere.”

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”

Draco explained about the dreams. About the sunshine and warmth and happiness and the smell. About smelling it the next morning- although not its effect on him. And then tonight, when he’d woken from the darker dream with an absolute certainty that whoever he had been dreaming about was panic-stricken and crying.

The portraits on the walls were glaring at him. He had obviously woken them up. Dumbledore’s office was the first place he’d come, but now that he was truly awake he was surprised he’d succeeded in finding him there so late.

“So this girl in the dream, do you know her?” Dumbledore asked.

“No. I never saw her. I just- just sort of sensed her.”

“And you have no idea who she may be?”

“No.”

“Do you think she’s a student here?”

“Yes. She’s nearby,” Draco answered immediately, surprised by his own conviction. He had no idea how he’d known that, but the moment the words left his lips he was certain they were true.

Dumbledore considered him quietly. His frustration was palpable. “Draco,” he asked thoughtfully, “Can you tell if she’s still crying?”

Draco thought about it. He pictured that scent, that warmth. He thought he saw a hint of red. And then he hissed in obvious relief, and he felt his face flush in embarrassment. “No,” he said, “I don’t think she is.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Then I think it might be wise for you to return to bed. It is very late.”

“What is happening to me, Professor?”

“I wish I had an answer, Draco. But I don’t know that there’s ever been anyone like you before. For now we’ll just have to wait.”

The next morning, a third vial had found its way onto his nightstand. The label read ‘Dreamless Sleep’ and someone had scrawled beneath it ‘use as needed’. He pushed it aside and emptied the other two vials.

He took a long shower, and he found his mind drifting to the girl from his dreams. He couldn’t see her, couldn’t picture her face or her body, but he felt like he could _feel_ her. Her warmth writhing beneath him, surrounding him, her smell thick in the air. The hunger in his chest flared and he let out a groan. He found himself painfully hard. He set about to taking care of the problem, and a few moments later he’d had his release, but the pain in his chest hadn’t subsided at all. The potions should have been working by then.

He got dressed and made his way towards his first class of the day. Classes hardly seemed to matter much these day. Everyone knew that they were just going through the motions. Most of them had just fought in a war, it was hard to take NEWTS seriously. Today, though, he was relieved to have something to take his mind off of all of the weirdness. Classes felt reassuringly mundane.

He was almost to charms when he stopped dead. Weasley and Granger were talking loudly about Harry-Bloody-Potter.

“He’s missing an important lesson- that’s all I’m saying,” Granger was saying defensively.

“ _Hermione_ , he’s just saved the world,” Ron sounded exasperated, “If he wants to skive off one bloody lesson, I say good on him. He’ll be back tonight, anyway.”

It wasn’t the conversation that stopped him. Everyone knew that even though Potter had supposedly returned for his seventh year, he spend most of his time traveling back and forth with Dumbledore doing Ministry business. There was nothing new or remarkable about that. Instead it was the smell.

Draco took two large strides and he was chest to chest with Ron Weasley.  He inhaled deeply.

“The fuck, Malfoy?” Ron stumbled away from him in surprise.

“Why do you smell like that?” Draco demanded. Ron’s face flushed bright red.

“Merlin’s beard,” lamented Hermione. “I thought we were through with this.”

Draco stepped forward and closed the distance between him and Ron once again. “ _Why do you smell like that?”_

Ron was shaking with anger and was about to respond, when Hermione moved subtly between them. “Oh, I know, because he grew up in a pig sty. Or because the spots on his face make it look like a dung bomb exploded on him? Or, oh, maybe it’s me? Maybe he smells like a filthy mudblood. Really, Ron. You know better than this. _He. Is. Not. Worth. It.”_

She pulled him away, casting one final disgusted look at Malfoy as she went. Ron let her do it, but sputtered the whole time. “May not be evil, but he’s a right slimy bastard. He’ll get what’s coming to him one of these days.”

“What?” Draco called after him, quite recovered, “Fame and fortune? Oh wait, I already have those!”

They were gone around the corner and he sighed. Really, there was no point in baiting them anymore- not even Potter. Insulting the savior of the world really had a way of making a man look petty. He hadn’t meant to start anything with Weasley, but he had smelled like orange blossom. The wave of jealousy he’d experience had been literally uncontrollable. If Granger hadn’t stepped in when she did he’d probably still be beating the Weasel Kings face bloody. The idea of anyone else touching _her,_ being near _her_ when he couldn’t filled him with rage.

But, the smell hadn’t been as strong as the other morning, and the only thing that stopped him is he’d realized Granger smelled faintly of it too. Maybe it was just her shampoo. It was probably just a coincidence. But the thought of what he might have done scared him. He was losing control over himself.

He couldn’t stop shaking through all of charms. Whatever was happening to him was not getting better. His chest ached. His head felt light. He should go to Madam Pomfrey. He’d given his word he would. But then what? Dumbledore pretty obviously had no idea what was happening to him. They would send him off to St Mungo’s where he’d go mad dreaming about sunshine and orange blossoms. He was already going mad.

Charms ended, and he didn’t realize it until Professor Flitwich tapped him on the shoulder to ask if he was alright. He mumbled an apology and gathered his things. The hallways were mostly empty when he stepped out into them. He decided to skip the rest of his classes. He would go back to his room, take that potion for dreamless sleep, and rest. Maybe sleep would help. He was almost back to his dormitory when he smelled it. Goddamn orange blossoms. It was strong, and it was close. _She_ was close. Like the morning in the Great Hall, the smell lit his body on fire. Suddenly he was bright and alert. The fog from moments before had cleared. His limbs felt lighter than they had in days. And the hunger in his chest smoldered and settled further down. His cock stirred. This time he was going to find her.

He followed the scent up the nearest staircase and made a sharp left turn. He was on the third floor, somewhere near the arithmacy classrooms. He was getting closer. Another left and a flash of red and she was right there in front of him. Her lips had just formed a small ‘o’ of surprise when his came crashing down on them. He pushed her back against the wall, pressing her against him. Her thighs, resting between his, her breasts crushed against his chest. Everywhere their skin touched burned. He wanted more. He ripped the hem of her shirt out of her waist band and slid his hand under it so that he could touch her hips. His other hand snaked further back, feeling the small of her back, just above the generous swell of her ass. And her hands were on his chest too, balled up in his shirt.

His tongue prodded at her lip, begging access. He growled in satisfaction when they parted.

She bit down hard on his tongue. Hard enough to draw blood. He jerked his head back, but his body stayed firmly in place. He looked down at her. Ginny Weasley stared back at him, her round brown eyes wide and her expression unreadable.

He realized belatedly that her hands on his chest hadn’t been the passionate response he’d imagined- she’d been beating her fists against him trying to get him to let go. With her arms pinned between them, she’d been unable to get any leverage. A noise to their right started both of them and they each turned to look. A third-year was staring at them, mouth slightly open.

“Go get Dumbledore,” Draco told him.

The boy didn’t move. “Go get Dumbledore _now._ ” The boy turned and ran.

Draco looked back at Ginny. “I’m going to let go now. The instant I do, use _Stupefy_ on me. Understand?”

Her eyes darkened, “WHAT THE FUCK, MALFOY? WHAT-“

He interrupted her. “Shut up, Weasley. I let go and you curse me or I swear to god I’ll tear your knickers off and fuck you right here. _Now. Do. You. Understand_?” he asked, enunciating each word. And as he did, he ground his hips against hers to prove his point. She nodded.

He braced himself, steeled his resolve, and stepped back. Moving faster than he could have imagined, her freed hand snatched the wand from her robe pocket and he felt himself falling helplessly to the floor.


	2. Chapter Two

Draco woke up in the infirmary. Dumbledore was seated next to him.

Fuck. _Fuck._ A Weasley? Of all people, _how_ could it have been her? Ginny Weasley. He racked his brain, trying to remember everything he knew about her. Sixth year, decent Quidditch player, constantly fawning over Harry Potter, and just as spotty and obnoxious as her brothers. If he had thought his situation was bad before, this was beyond humiliating.

At least she was a girl. There was that. He had- although he would never admit it- worried that maybe this veela thing would cause _other_ changes too. The only worse scenario he could imagine was if he’d been this inexplicably drawn to a man. Completely against his will, an image of her brother Ron floated through his head, and Draco fought back the urge to gag.

“Is she okay?” He finally asked, not daring to look Dumbledore in the eye.

“Physically, Ms. Weasley is well. Although she is more than a little angry from my understanding.”

“Where is she?’

“In her room, I would imagine,” Dumbledore told him, watching his reaction closely.

“Am I expelled?”

“Should you be?”

Draco grimaced. “I would have-” he faltered over the wording. “Hurt her,” he finished lamely.

“I take the safety of my students very seriously, Mr. Malfoy. I cannot, in good conscious, allow any harm to come to them. And that includes you, Draco. I believe Hogwarts is the safest place for you. Now more than ever.”

“I would have hurt her,” Draco repeated.

“And yet you made a choice not to.” Dumbledore said kindly. “I understand it was you who told her to curse you.”

“I told her to stun me,” Draco said, annoyed as he remembered. “The stinging jinx and whatever that thing she did to my hands was all her.”

Dumbledore smiled. “Well, there was no permanent harm done. To you or Miss Weasley.”

“I’m not sure I could stop myself again,” Draco admitted.

“Ah. But I think I may be able to help with that part.”

He handed Draco a small glass filled with a vile-looking green potion. The glass was cold, but the potion inside bubbled of its own accord.

“It’s a willpower potion. It should help you fight off the worst of your urges. I warn you though, this will strengthen your resolve, but it cannot make the choices for you. That you must do on your own. I also must insist that you not try to contact Ginny Weasley. I think that would be unwise for both of you, at the moment.”

Draco regarded the cup in his hand. “Willpower?”

“Yes. Professor Slughorn assures me it should work. I will have to make the staff aware of your… peculiar circumstances.  I can assure you of their utmost discretion, but it is necessary for the safety of the other students.”

Dumbledore didn’t expand on what he meant by the safety of the other students. They both knew. 

“Well, then,” Draco said, “Cheers to me,” and drained the glass.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Draco woke the next day feeling better than he had in weeks. Better than he had in more than a year, actually.  A glance beside him confirmed a vial of the willpower potion had been added to his daily regimen. He put the potion for dreamless sleep aside- he had yet to use that one- but drank the other three.

It was Saturday and a Hogmeade weekend, so the grounds were quiet. He was happy to find Blaise reading in the common room.

“Seekers’ game?” Draco proposed by way of greeting. Blaise didn’t look up from his page.

“Oi- Look at me,” Draco commanded, tossing a couch cushion at his friend.

“Oh, me? The great Draco Malfoy finally deigns to speak to me? I’m touched,” Blaise said dryly, still pretending to read.

Draco knew he’d ignored his friend the last few weeks, but he couldn’t explain it, and so he didn’t try.

“Oh shut up. Let’s go fly.”

“Fine,” Blaise said, “But expect to have your arse handed to you.”

They flew for more than an hour. Despite Blaise’s threat, Draco was hands down the better flyer. Because he was feeling guilty, he let Blaise catch the snitch twice and the game ended five to three. They returned to the common room and got washed off for lunch. Draco listened to Blaise complain about their potions assignment, content to be able to focus on something uncomplicated.

That changed the minute Ginny walked into the Great Hall. Draco didn’t have to look up to know when she entered, he could sense her, as though room’s center of gravity had changed unexpectedly. He kept his eyes fixed on his food. He would not look at her. His chest pounded with a sudden and powerful longing and, embarrassingly, he could feel his cock swell. And even though every nerve in his body was commanding him to bend her over the table and make her his, here and now, where everyone could see, he managed to stay in his seat.

He let his eyes dart up just once to look at her and was relieved when she didn’t catch him. She was surrounded by a gaggle of other six year girls that Draco couldn’t remember seeing her with before. Was she trying to hide from him? The thought made him irrationally angry. He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white and he decided he’d tested his self-control enough for one day. He announced abruptly he was returning to the common room and walked out as quickly as he could. Every step he took his body tried to convince him he was moving in the wrong direction, and by the time he made it back to his dormitory he was panting with exertion.

He kicked off his boots and laid in the bed. Against his better judgement, he unzipped his trousers and released his straining erection. He knew it was not a good idea to indulge himself in this particular fantasy, but he couldn’t stop himself from picturing Ginny as he stroked himself. Merlin, she had felt so good against him. The taut, tone muscles of her athletic arms and legs, contrasted with the soft feminine swell of her ass and breasts. Her cute little mouth, agape with surprise. He imagined putting those pink lips to another use and came in his hand.

In the time it took him to clean himself up, he realized he was half hard again. He sighed in frustration, running his hands through his hair.

A revelation struck him light a bolt of lightning. Fine. He may have this strange infatuation with the littlest Weasley- and Merlin knew why- but she was _not_ the only woman at Hogwarts. If “human intimacy”- as Dumbledore put it- was what he needed, well that he knew how to get.

He combed the grounds. Earlier that day he’d felt like the emptiness was a blessing, now he grit his teeth in irritation. Finally, sitting in the library he was Elise Abercrombie, a pretty sixth year Ravenclaw. She’d made her interest in him obvious in the past, and they’d flirted but he’d never been interested enough to pursue her. But for his purposes today, she was more than adequate.

She smiled when she saw him, “Hello, Draco.”

“Elise,” he answered, with his most charming smile.

He sat down next to her. She watched him with a puzzled expression. “Can I help you with something?”

His grin turned wolfish. “Oh, yes. I think you can.” His hand worked its way up her thigh, pushing her skirt up with it, until the only barrier between his fingers and her womanhood was her thin, lacy underwear.

Ten minutes later, she was perched on the sink in the boys’ loo with her legs wrapped around his hips. She looked exquisite- her long dark hair draping down her shoulders, her button up undone to the waist, her breasts bouncing and barely contained in her lace bra. Draco, however, could barely contain his disgust. His body teemed with the wrongness of it. _Not Ginny. Not Ginny. Not Ginny._

Even when he closed his eyes and imagined it was her, he couldn’t convince his body. Everything was wrong. Her weight was wrong. The contour of her body. Even the smell of her. He pulled out. Elise whimpered.

“Done so soon?” she asked. It was meant to be seductive. Her voice grated on him.

“No,” he answered flatly. His pants were buckled and he was unjamming the door.

“But-but-“ Elise stammered. “I’m not done! _You’re_ not done!”

Draco let the door closing behind him be his reply.

That night he dreamed of Ginny again. This time, he knew it was Ginny and he could see her face. She was on top, staring down at him, her hair cascading a curtain around them. She said his name, over and over in pleasure, she promised she was his, she begged to be his. The next day Draco woke feeling like he’d been beaten by the whomping willow. His head throbbed, and the pain in his chest had returned redoubled. Worse yet, he found when he pulled back his covers that the orgasm he’d felt in his dream had not been so imaginary after all.   

Fuck. _Fuck._ If there was one thing Malfoys prided themselves on it was- well, everything. But self-control was near the top of that list. And this was not control. Merlin, he hadn’t had a wet dream since he was fourteen and a virgin.

He took his potions eagerly but they only took a slight edge off of his discomfort. He was quite sure that without the willpower potion he would have torn Ginny Weasley from her bed in the middle of the night-consequences be damned- just as he had imagined doing countless times as he had fallen asleep. So that at least seemed to be working.

He had woken up the day before feeling so good and even though he’d hope it was the potions, even though he’d tried desperately to convince himself, he had a sinking feeling that they had very little to do with it. No, he’d kissed Ginny Weasley, and all the pain had gone away. Now she was gone, and the pain was creeping back.  

Despite the willpower potion, Draco wasn’t sure what he would do if he saw Ginny. He decided it was safest to skip breakfast. He made it through his first four classes, but by midday, the pain was extreme. He must have looked as poorly as he felt, because when he asked McGonagall in the middle of transfiguration if he could go to the infirmary she let him go without question.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ginny Weasley stood outside the infirmary shaking in anger. She _hated_ Malfoy. She had always hated Malfoy, but now more than ever. And yet Dumbledore had made it very clear that it was a matter of life and death and it had to be her, although he wouldn’t say why. She knew the moment she entered which bed was his- it was the only one with the curtains drawn back- and noticed with interest that Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey weren’t the only ones there. Professor Slughorn was there too, looking uncomfortable, and Professor McGonagal was wringing her hands in quiet concern.

“Ah,” Professor Dumbledore said, by way of greeting, and gestured for her to come over. “Ginny. It is good you are here, I think.”

They pulled the curtains back and she stifled a gasp. His skin was always pale but now there was a yellow pallor and a sheen of sweat, even though the hospital wing was uncomfortably cold. He looked as though he’d lost weight and the angles of his face jutted out more noticeably than before.  The skin under his eyes was dark purple, and he was breathing in ragged gasps.

“What-” Ginny stopped herself. Dumbledore had already told he that he would not tell her what was wrong with him.

“What can I do, Professor?” She finally asked through grit teeth. If the lead healer, the Potions Master, and Dumbledore himself couldn’t help, surely there was nothing she could do.

“Just being here, I suspect, will help,” Dumbledore said, kindly. McGonagall touched her arm briefly as a show of support. They brought her a chair, and she sat awkwardly next to his bed. The professors excused themselves one by one and Madam Pomfrey went back to bustling around the infirmary.

Ginny studied Malfoy. Just being here, he’d said, but she wasn’t sure anything could help him. He looked like death. She looked about for something to do- she hadn’t brought any of her schoolwork with her, not even a book. She couldn’t sit here staring at him all day. She looked at the nightstand and felt a twinge of sympathy. She’d been in the hospital wing for extended stays before. Once, in her first year after the events in the Chamber of Secrets and twice for Quidditch injuries. In every case, her nightstand had been overflowing. Luna had brought her a copy of Quiddler, and Hermione would drop in with all her assignments. Ron, Harry, and the twins would bring chocolate frogs and licorice snaps. They would stay and joke with her until she was shrieking with laughter and Madam Pomfrey kicked them all out. Draco Malfoy’s bedside table was empty, and the infirmary was quiet.

_You reap what you sow,_ Ginny thought dryly. But still, growing up in the Burrow it was hard to imagine not having _anyone_ to take care of you. She was interrupted from her thoughts by Draco jerking violently in her sleep. At first she though he was dying. But then she saw his eyes fluttering beneath their lids and she realized he was having a nightmare.

Ginny knew about nightmares. She’d had more than her fair share. And a good deal of them were a direct result of the Malfoy family. She glared at him, angry suddenly. How dare he? How _dare_ he? She wasn’t sure if she meant Malfoy or Dumbledore.

He had assaulted her- _threatened to rape her-_ and now she was just supposed to sit here …doing what exactly? Dumbledore had promised he wouldn’t come near her again, and now here she was and he wouldn’t even tell her why. Well they could both be damned if they thought she was just going to sit here. She stood up- and felt like she’d been electrified. She looked around in surprise. Malfoy’s right hand had fallen off the bed and hung limply at its side. She must have brushed it standing up.

Cautiously, she reached out and poked it. She felt the jolt again, and the skin of her hand hummed pleasantly where she had touched him. Malfoy’s response was even more dramatic- he’d taken in a deep gasp of air and released it slowly in a sigh of obvious relief. His breathing slowed. Ginny stood watching for a moment. He had taken several even breaths, but in just a few seconds he seemed to be back to struggling for air.

She touched his wrist again. The jolt was less surprising this time, but no less powerful. She watched Malfoy’s chest carefully. His breaths becoming quieter, more regular. His face slackened slightly, some of the tension draining away. There was no denying she’d had an effect on him.

Driven totally by instinct, she pulled the blankets back and crawled into the bed with him. She pressed his body against hers, trying to get as much contact as she could. He was uncomfortably warm, and he smelled sour. She wondered how long he’d been in this bed. She knew he’d been absent for classes for the last few days, but couldn’t pin down how long it had been. Two days? Maybe three?

Despite that, it felt nice touching him- like laying in a sunny spot on a cool day. She felt ridiculous, but his breathing has noticeably slowed, and his body had stopped shaking. She laid like that for maybe twenty minutes, before the curtains opening made her jump.

Madam Pomfrey was holding a tray full of potions, her eyes wide with surprise, and her face forming into a scowl. But then she looked a Draco, and her face changed. She seemed to be conflicted between yelling at Ginny about decorum and decency and upsetting her patient, and sighing in relief. There was no denying that Malfoy already looked visible better.

She sniffed instead. “We haven’t been able to get his potions into him since yesterday evening. If he wakes up, make him drink these.”

She set the tray down and disappeared without another word. Ginny pushed herself up on her elbow to examine the potions. One was a thin purple liquid, probably a strengthening potion. Another looked like a draft for dreamless sleep. There were five or six others, and she could only guess what was in them.

She laid in the bed awkwardly the rest of the day. It was awkward and it made her neck hurt. She only got up twice, once to relieve herself and another to walk a cramp out of her calf muscles. Around eight, she stood a third time. She went and used the washroom, and found Madam Pomfrey.

“I’m hungry,” she said.

“Of course, dear,” Madam Pomfrey said, “We’ll have something brought up straight away.”

Ginny went back to the bed. She looked at Malfoy. In the time she’d been gone, he’d begun to gently pant, and the faintest shimmer of sweat glistened on his forehead. But, overall, his color had improved tremendously. The bruises under his eyes had lightened, and some color had come back into his face. As she pulled the covers back, he stirred.

“Ginny?” He croaked. His throat was dry, but she could hear the surprise in his voice.

“You have to drink these,” she said urgently, “can you sit up?”

But his eyes were closed and he was asleep again. Ginny sighed. A house elf appeared a moment later with her dinner.

“Oh, er, Miss? Could you do me another favor?”

The house elf flinched. “Begging your pardon, please, Miss shouldn’t be calling Tippy ‘miss’.”

“Oh, sorry, er, Tippy. I was just wondering if you could go to my room and get me a few of my things?”

Tippy was happy to go. She knew she could have asked Madam Pomfrey and she could have arranged something, but she wanted to be as discrete as possible. Merlin forbid anyone find out what she was doing her.

Tippy returned with a few of her text books, and a pair of pajamas. Ginny thanked her profusely, which seemed to make the poor house elf very uncomfortable. Once she was gone, Ginny glanced down at Malfoy to be sure he was asleep and then quickly stripped off her uniform and changed into the pajamas. Laying in the bed was slightly more comfortable after that, without her school skirt bunching in the sheets. She grabbed one of her books and read until she fell asleep.

The second day passed much the same as the first. Tippy returned with breakfast and a set of clean clothes for Ginny. Madam Pomfrey checked in every hour to look at his progress, making approving noises as his color and breathing continued to improve, but he still hadn’t woken for more than a few seconds here or there, and he still felt feverish to the touch. By the end of the second afternoon, Ginny was bored to tears. Dumbledore hadn’t come by again, and Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t or couldn’t give Ginny anymore answers as to what exactly was going on. Leaving his side for more than a few minutes resulted in a noticeable decline in his condition, but overall he was looking much better. That evening, he even opened his eyes several time and seemed to look around the room with much more focus than he had the last seventy two hours.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The third morning Ginny expected Madam Pomfrey when the curtains moved, but was surprised to see Dumbledore, and several of the other professors as well. She was sitting in her pajamas, in the chair at the foot of the bed. Madam Pomfrey went immediately to his side to check on him.

“I got him to drink the potions,” she said, quickly.

McGonagall’s mouth opened in surprise. “He woke up?”

“Someone’s used _Petrificus Totalus on him_!” Madam Pomfrey, shrieked in horror. “We do not petrify patients! What happened?”

“He woke up,” Ginny answered.

Madam Pomfrey quickly muttered the counter-curse, freeing him. He glared at Ginny.

“That’s cheating,” he said, haughtily, “Bringing a wand to bed.”

“I think we can all agree that he’s feeling much better,” Ginny said through gritted teeth, standing to leave. “So my work- ” Whatever the hell it was, she added mentally, “is done here. I’m leaving.”

“I think that would be a very good idea,” Dumbledore said at the exact same moment Malfoy growled, “Like hell you are.”

Dumbledore gave him a withering glare, and Malfoy subdued himself. “Better. Now, Ms. Weasley. I think some explanations are in order. But first I need some time to speak to Mr. Malfoy, and I’m sure Madam Pomfrey will want to examine him. In the meantime, might I suggest you get yourself some breakfast? It’s waffles today.”

“Yes, Headmaster,” she said, and walked as quickly as she could away.

She was summoned to the headmaster’s office just after lunch time. She was in charms, and Flitwit gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Best to get a move on,” he told her. Once she was in the hall, she considered what would happen if she just went back to her room instead. It was a tempting thought. Whatever was happening with Draco Malfoy she wanted no part of it.

But… she was curious. And Dumbledore had promised explanations. She supposed it couldn’t hurt to go and hear him out. At least find out what the hell was going on.

Dumbledore was seated at his desk when she came into his office. She was not at all surprised or pleased to see that Malfoy was seated across from him.

“Please, sit down,” Dumbledore gestured to the chair next to Malfoy. She grabbed the chair by the arm and pulled it several feet closer to her- farther from Malfoy- before she sat down. His expression darkened as she did in- what? Anger? Annoyance? Disgust?

“Ms. Weasley, I must begin by apologizing. I have put you in an incredibly uncomfortable position these last few days, and given you very little explanation as to why.”

“You said Malfoy was sick,” Ginny prompted. She wasn’t quite ready to accept his apology yet. “And that I was the only one who could help him.”

“Yes. That is true. Would you prefer to explain it Mr. Malfoy, or shall I?”

Malfoy shrugged. “I might as well I guess,” he was carefully studying a golden globe on Dumbledore’s desk. “Dumbledore thinks my father did- something- to me when I was a baby. Something that changed me. He gave my mother veela blood while she was pregnant and now I’m experiencing,” he paused, and looked at her for the first time, “Side-effects.”

“Side-effects?”

“Veela’s need…. intimacy or else they die. And it seems like I’ve inherited that.”

“But- but you can’t have. He can’t have,” Ginny added, looking at Dumbledore. “Veela are all women.”

Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders slightly. “Normally, yes. Men may pass on the gene, but only female offspring are born veela. But what the older Mr. Malfoy did was far from the natural order of things, and it seems to have had some unusual consequences.”  

“So you’re telling me Malfoy is a veela? Like turn-into-a-bird-woo-you-with-their-sexy-dance veela?”

“Well, no. Not really. He has not, as far as I know, inherited every characteristic. He cannot change into a harpy, or throw fire.”

“But if you’re nice, Weasley,” Malfoy said with a crooked grin, “I will show you my sexy dance.”

She glared at him. “Don’t veela usually seduce burly sailors?”

“Lucky for you your resemblance is so uncanny.”

Ginny drew her wand. Dumbledore cleared his throat delicately. “Perhaps we could get back to the matter at hand? Mr. Malfoy may not be fully veela, but his need for human intimacy is very real. To go without would be excruciating, and maybe even fatal. You saw firsthand the result of him going without it.”

“I don’t see what I have to do with any of this,” Ginny said angrily. “So Malfoy needs to- I don’t know- _seduce_ people. He’s been round the bend with every trollop at Hogwarts already” (from beside her she heard Malfoy snort) “He can just toss off and leave _me_ alone.”

“Ah, yes. Well I’m afraid it doesn’t seem to work that way, in Mr. Malfoy’s case. His particular need seems to be _specific._ ”

“Specific?” She asked, her eyes narrow. She waited but no one offered any further explanation. A moment later, his meaning dawned on her. “Specific to _me?_ ”

She turned to look at Malfoy, but he didn’t meet her eyes. He was studying his manicured nails in careful nonchalance.

“So are you telling me- what? I have to have _sex_ with Malfoy?” She sputtered.

“No,” Dumbledore said smiling gently. At the same time Malfoy shouted yes from beside her. She looked over at him. His neck was now flushed a delicate pink. She couldn’t tell whether it was from embarrassment or something else she didn’t want to consider.

“No,” Dumbledore repeated, more firmly. “Not as far as we know. Veela crave other things besides the obvious. Real veela can utilize affection, emotional intimacy, jealousy. Why do you think so many men feel compelled to show off for them? Do great deeds for them? I have no reason to believe Mr. Malfoy would be any different. Simple physical contact seems to have improved his condition dramatically. It is my belief that that alone would be enough to spare him from the greatest part of his suffering. Perhaps even spending time near each in close proximity would be enough. Ms. Weasley, the key thing here is that no one is asking you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. No one can force you into anything. This need not be your cross to bear, if you cannot bear it.”

“But if I don’t do something… Malfoy could get sick again?”

“I believe we can say with certainty he would.”

“And if it gets bad enough he… he could die?”

“We know very little for sure, but I think all evidence so far indicates that, yes, he could die.”

“And I am the only one? No one else can…” She trailed off. She looked at Malfoy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. He didn’t look altogether well either, not like he had when she’d left him this morning. It had only been a few hours, but his color was beginning to fade and the shadows under his eyes were returning.

“Not so far as we know,” Dumbledore answered gently.

“So there really is no choice then, is there?” She asked. She hated Malfoy. More than she’d probably hated anyone else short of Voldemort himself. But she couldn’t just let him die like this. It would feel like murder, and she said as much. Dumbledore sent Draco away then. He pouted, opened his mouth to argue, but closed it a moment later and left.

“Ginny,” Dumbledore said softly once he was gone. “You are of age. This decision is yours to make, but I know how difficult this must be for you. If you would like your parents-”

“NO!” Ginny said forcefully. Merlin’s beard. She was already discussing her theoretical sex life with her headmaster, there was no reason to bring her parents into it as well. There was no way they’d agree to any of this.

“You don’t have to do this. You do have a choice.”

“With all due respect, Headmaster, we both know I don’t,” She said grimly.

 


	3. Chapter Three

Ginny stood staring at the landscape, trying to think of a time she’d been more intimidated staring at flowers. None sprang to mind.

Behind that painted landscape was a guest bedroom, which would become her bedroom the minute she entered it. She’d left most of her things in Gryffindor tower. She was not planning on putting down roots. Dumbledore couldn’t answer her when she’d asked how long this arrangement would have to last. One of the many questions he hadn’t been able to answer. But hopefully, this veela nonsense would clear Malfoy’s system quickly and she’d be able to go back to her normal life. Of course, there was the possibility that it would never clear his system, and she’d be stuck with him forever, but she pushed that thought forcefully from her head. Dumbledore would sort this out. He had to. There was no way she could live the rest of her life with Malfoy.

One step at a time. The first one was opening this door. Ginny swiped her hand three times across the picture, and the flowers bobbed and swayed like they were moved by an imaginary breeze. Then the portrait swung open and she stepped inside. The room was very pretty, and done up in a way that was both simple and elegant- dark wood floors and furniture, white curtains and upholstery. It was a large, open room, with lots of windows enchanted for privacy, which was meant to be reassuring but instead made her much more nervous. There was a cushioned window seat and reading chair on one side, and a small wooded desk, a wardrobe, a large bed, and a chest of drawers on the other next to a door that must have led to a bathroom. A second door faced the bed, and she couldn’t bring herself to think about what lay behind it. She pulled the portrait closed behind her.

She didn’t want to unpack, but there was nothing else to do but worry, so she began pulling her clothes out of her bag. Draco Malfoy was almost directly behind her before she noticed he was there. She turned and gaped at him, the heat radiating off of him was unbelievable.

“Do you need me to summon a house elf to get the rest of your things?” He asked. He wasn’t touching her, but he was too close for a casual conversation. She took a step backward as she turned to face him.

“This is all I have,” she answered.

“ _That’s all you have?”_ He asked incredulously, his face torn somewhere between a smirk and disgust.

“Not in the _world_ ,” she corrected, glaring furiously. It was obviously very easy for him to believe that all of the worldly belongings of a Weasley could fit inside of two large tote bags. “It’s just all I brought with me _here_. Wanker,” she added under her breath for good measure.

After Malfoy left Dumbledore had explained that he’d had one of Hogwart’s many guest bedroom outfitted for their needs. They would each have their own room in the East Tower, but the rooms were adjoining. That way, they could be in constant contact, if need be, while reasonably assuring their privacy. He’d said it all very professionally, Ginny thought bitterly, as though he wasn’t basically pimping her out to Malfoy.

 

Draco sat down on her bed, and watched her unpack. Before, he’d felt like he was being held underwater, grasping for breath, and she was air. Now that he’d spent time with her, he could think much more clearly. Good. It was some semblance of control, even if he wasn’t sure he could manage the real thing quite yet.

And now that he could study her, he couldn’t help but feel a burst of disgust bubble up. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone- _anything_ \- else. He wanted to touch her, consume her, make her totally and completely his in every single way he could imagine. But underneath the haze of desire, she was still a Weasley.

She was alright looking, he guessed. He knew a lot of boys liked her. In fact there had, for a time, been a dirty limerick about her scrawled across one of the doors in the Slytherin washrooms. But her freckles were off-putting and she barely kept herself decent half the time. Her hair- which clashed with everything, by the way- was always flying half wild in a mane around her head. Her eyes were a boring brown, too big and wideset to be proportional, and her nose a touch too big. She was short too, nearly a head smaller than him. He didn’t mind short, but he where preferred his women waif-like and delicate, Ginny was sturdy. Her stomach was flat, but her hips and thighs were curvy, her breasts full. He remembered her mother being a rather fat woman, and wondered with dread if that’s what she would look like when she was old.

He shook away that thought with a shudder. He was not going to grow old with the little Weasel. They would find a cure before then, or he’d walk himself off the astronomy tower.

He did wonder if one good romp was all it took. With any luck, one good and thorough fucking and she’d be out of his system. He groaned thinking about it. He was getting hard again. Ginny must have heard him. Her back went so stiff he thought someone had petrified her.

“Stop leering, Malfoy,” she hissed.

“Take it as a compliment, Weasley,” he said, easing himself back onto the bed so he was laying propped up on his elbows. The view from this angle was even better, “Merlin knows magic was the only way you were going to get a man to want you.”

She whirled around at him and she didn’t look nearly as short as she had just a moment ago. “I swear, Malfoy, I will rip out your tongue and feed it to you.”

He smirked, “I could put my tongue to a much better use.”

Her face was flushed with anger. “Get out of my room,” she bit out, through gritted teeth.

“Really, Weasley, I don’t see why you have to be so difficult about this,” he said, not moving from his leisurely position on her bed. “You do realize that this thing happening to me- for all we know, it may be a one-time thing. Maybe one good lay and you and I would both be able to move on with our lives. And it would be good, Weasley, I promise you that. I could make it very, very good for you.”

He barely avoided her curse in time. He half jumped, half fell to the floor to get away.

“Merlin, woman!” 

He dodged and deflected curses all the way to his door and fell inside.

 

 

 

 

 

Draco gave her an hour before he tried again. He had nothing to say to her, and she hardly seemed ready to just give in and shag him, so he had no idea what he expected of her as he knocked. But knowing she was right there in the next room was too much for him. He needed to see her again.

She didn’t answer, but he heard her shuffle on the other side of the door. He knocked again.

“Weasley. I can hear you in there, you know.”

“What do you want, Malfoy?” She snapped, sounding annoyed.

His mood instantly soured. Gods. As if it wasn’t humiliating enough waiting outside her door like a puppy, she had the brass to be annoyed by it.

“What do you mean, what do I want? You’re supposed to be in here helping me! If you’re not going to fuck me the least you can do is-”

The door in front of him swung open.  Ginny stood, her wand pointed directly at the tip of his nose.

“You do not want to finish that sentence, Malfoy. I’ve had a very bad day, which was entirely your fault. I’m just itching to curse you.”

Malfoy closed his mouth.

“Now, let’s get something straight. Dumbledore said just being in close proximity to you would be enough to stop you dying-”

“ _Could be_ enough _,_ ” Draco correct. “And you being over there isn’t exactly what I would call-”

“AND I DON’T INTEND TO SPEND ANY MORE TIME WITH YOU THAN ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY,” Ginny yelled over him, as though he hadn’t spoke, “So unless you’re LITERALLY DYING, you stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine.”

“And just why, exactly,” Ginny asked, outraged as she peered around his shoulder into his side of the room, “Did you get the bigger room?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Weasley, didn’t you grow up inside a shoe or something? I picked the room I thought suited me best. The room you’re in now has got to be bigger whatever shack you call a home, so I don’t see why-.”

The door slammed so hard in his face that it hit his nose. His vision swam, went white for a moment, and then came back into focus. He touched the bridge of his nose, and found that it wasn’t broken. He kicked the door as hard as he could. On the other side, he heard Weasley gasp.

“My patience is running out, Weasley,” he yelled at the door. “The next time you hit me I might not be so understanding.”

He’d heard the lock click closed after she’d slammed it, but he could spell the door open and confront her.

_Yeah, that will go over well,_ he reasoned with himself. If he went in there now, they would fight. His fingers twitched around the wand in his pocket. It was tempting.

But if he was ever going to get the Weasley girl where he wanted her, he needed a game plan. He couldn’t just burst in, wand drawn. He needed to be rational.

Draco paced around the room, repeating in his mind over everything he knew about Ginny Weasley. Sixth year, friend of Harry Potter and his stupid lot, decent Chaser. He added, _bad temper,_ _good jinxes,_ and _insufferable twat_ to his list _._ Eventually, he laid down in the bed. The more he thought about her, the more tempted he was to bust in her door and jinx her. Or, maybe just shag her senseless. A good spanking seemed in order. He thought about that last one a moment too long, before he cast the thought aside and muttered _nox._ The lights in the room immediately faded, leaving him in the dark. Sleep. What he really needed was sleep. Tomorrow he could figure out how exactly he was going to seduce her. If he could humiliate her in the process, that was all the better. But he wasn’t going to be able to do anything else until he slept.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Draco woke up in the middle of the night swamped with a panic that made it hard to breath. _Ginny._

He didn’t bother to check the door handle. There was no way she would have unlocked it. He shouted the spell as he’d ran towards it, jerking it open. The room was dark, but he could see she wasn’t on the bed. His chest tightened.

“What the hell, Malfoy?” He heard her ask, her voice cracking. He crossed the room quickly and found her she was sitting on the ground on the far side of the bed, her back pressed against the wall and her knees curled up to her chest. Her hand was clutching the neckline of her top, and he had the strong impression she’d yanked the top button open to help her breath. She was moving quickly now, though, unfolding herself and pulling herself to her feet. “What the hell, Malfoy,” she repeated, stronger this time. “What _the bloody hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re alright?” He asked, raking his eyes over her, taking in every detail. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, but he couldn’t see any obvious injury.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN HERE? I LOCKED THE DOOR!” She screamed.

He yelled back, “AND I’M NOT A FUCKING IDIOT. I KNOW ALOHAMORA JUST LIKE EVERY BLEEDING FIRST YEAR. NOW ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

“I’m _fine._ Get out of here!”

“You bloody better not be fine,” he growled. “If you’re going to wake me up with your crying at all bloody hours of the night, you’d damn best be on death’s door. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Oh, so sorry I inconvenienced you,” she spat.

“Damn right you did. I can’t sleep with you carrying on,” he said, torn somewhere between hysteric relief and anger.

“How the fuck did you even hear, Malfoy? Did you have your ear pressed up against the door, you pervert?”

He grit his teeth. “I couldn’t _hear_ you. I didn’t mean you woke me up. I meant _I can’t sleep when you cry_. I wake up feeling like I’m dying. _It physically hurts me._ I can’t breathe, because somewhere poor Virginia Weasley is having a tough time of it. Oh, woe is you. An attractive man wants to have sex with you. What a hard fucking life.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy! You don’t know the first thing about my life!”

“I know enough,” he spat.

“ _You don’t even know my fucking name!”_ She screamed. “GINEVRA. MY NAME IS GINEVRA!”

“Did you ever think about how fucked this is for me? At least you get a choice. I just get to wait around with my tail between my legs hoping you don’t up and decide to let me die just because you feel like it. At least you get something out of this bargain. You get me. But me? At the end of the day, I’m stuck with you. Do you know how humiliating that is?”

He was so certain that she was going to hex him that the slap came as a total shock. His cheek stung wildly where she’d hit it, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to clear. By the time they focused again, she was gone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ginny Weasley seethed the whole next day. Her potions kept boiling over in Slughorn’s class even after she took them off the flame, and the teapot she was supposed to be transfiguring into a toad kept exploding instead, sending tiny shards of porcelain around the room. After her third attempt, McGonagall snatched her teapot away with a scowl, which left her nothing to do except sit and fume further.

She did not see Malfoy at all that day, which led her to believe that he was hiding from her. Good. Maybe, despite all evidence to the contrary, he may have a sense of self-preservation after all. She knew she couldn’t avoid him forever, but she’d be damned if she made the first move. Let the arrogant prick come to her.

Less could be said about her brother, Ron, who noticed her bad mood and seemed determined to do everything he could to make it worse. He kept trying to get her to play wizard’s chess (which she hated) and asking her what was wrong. She politely declined the first two times, and the third she flung the board across the Gryffindor common room. The little players shook their fists angrily at her as they tried to regroup on the floor.

After that, Ron suggested loudly that maybe it was the time of the month where she ought to go and get one of _those_ potions from Madam Pomfrey, and she stormed up to her room while Hermione scolded him.

She did not return to the room in the East tower that night. Instead, she finished a charms assignment and went to bed early.

She woke up the next day feeling slightly better, at least until breakfast when Hermione pointed out that Draco Malfoy was missing from the Slytherin table.

“I wonder what’s going on with him,” she mused. “He’s missed a lot of classes lately. And he always looks a bit peaky, doesn’t he?”

“Peaky? How would you tell?” Ron asked, snorting. “I wouldn’t be surprised if someone cursed him,” he added as an afterthought.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Ginny asked, “Wasn’t he in classes yesterday?”

“No,” Harry answered. “He was supposed to have double charms with us, but he didn’t show up.”

Ginny dropped her fork and sprinted out of the Great Hall, across the castle, and up to the east tower.

“Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead,” she begged. If he was dead, it was her that had killed him.

She swiped her hand across the tulip painting, and stepped inside. She didn’t seem him in the first room, so she ran into the next and found him lying in the bigger bed. He was deathly pale, and at first she couldn’t see him breathing.

“Malfoy.” She shook him, but he didn’t respond. She shook him harder, when he didn’t stir she pulled back the covers and crawled in with him, pressing her body against his as tightly as she could. His skin was alarmingly cool to the touch. She frantically watched for the rise and fall of his chest and could just barely make out faint motion. He was breathing, but only just.

“Wake up, Malfoy,” she commanded. “You have to wake up.”

Nothing. Ginny did the only thing she could think of; she pushed herself up off the bed and kissed him.

 

 

* * *

 

_Mine._

Draco’s eyes snapped open. Ginny- _his Ginny_ \- was kissing him.

“Wake up, Malfoy,” she murmured into his lips. “Wake up,” she insisted, biting his lower lip.

He was tired and stiff and sore, but there she was kissing him, and it was hard to ignore. He kissed her back, reveling in the feel of her soft lips, the taste of her. She was sweet and crisp, he decided, like apples. He wasn’t sure that made sense, but it didn’t need to. Ginny was kissing him. His hand grabbed a hold of the hair at the nape of her neck. He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. She let him hold her without protest. She was lying next to him, her legs against his, holding herself up on one arm, so that her head was above his and their chests were pushed together.

His eyes opened, and he saw that hers were as well, watching him intently. She tried to pull away, but his hand tightened around the back of her neck, keeping her locked in place. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she tried to say something, but couldn’t get words out. Instead, she bit his lip, hard. He flinched in pain, but the hand holding her in place didn’t waver. He gave her just enough space to talk.

“Enough, Malfoy. Let go.” She sounded strong, but her eyes were worried and uncertain.

“Not yet,” he said, not even trying to hide the desperation in his voice. “Please.”

“No, Malfoy. I won’t-”

“Just kiss me,” he interrupted. “Please. Just kissing. I promise.”

Her little gasp let him know he’d surprised her, but he didn’t take the time to consider it. He drew her lips back down to his, and she let him. He kissed her deeply, and groaned in satisfaction when she let him part her lips with his tongue and explore the inside of her mouth. He hadn’t been so aroused by simple snogging since his second year when, drunk on his first victory as a seeker and more than a little contraband butterbeer, he’d had his first real make out session with Pansy Parkingson in the broom closet.

But there was more than just arousal in the kiss. There was desperate need. He’d been so sure that perfect, Gryffindor, Ginny Weasley wasn’t going to abandon him that he hadn’t gone to Dumbledore or Madam Pomfrey. He’d just waited for her to come back for several hours, until the hungry ache consumed him, until his bones turned to jelly, and his blood ran ice cold. By that time, his instincts were driving him to find her, and he’d followed the smell of her- the _pull_ \- of her all the way to the portrait of the Fat Lady where he knew she must have been hiding from him in the safety of Gryffindor Tower. Their new shared quarters was closer than the hospital wing, and he’d barely made it back inside and onto the bed before he’d collapsed. It felt like he couldn’t breathe without her. 

Now, as he kissed her, his blood was on fire. He was a man in a desert who’d just had his first drink of water, and he wanted so desperately to consume her entirely, to remove the flimsy barrier of her robes and make her his.

Every second he touched her, he felt his strength returning. He didn’t feel weak at all anymore. In fact, he couldn’t remember every feeling so good, so powerful. He could even feel his magic pulsing through his veins.

He craned his neck and brushed his lips against her jawline, just below her earlobe. She gasped in surprise, and to his _immense_ satisfaction, pleasure. That’s right, he thought, _his_. His to make moan and gasp and cry out.

“Malfoy,” she gasped, trying to pull away. She’d meant to admonish him, to tell him to stop. But it was the wrong move. His cock was already hopelessly, helplessly hard, and hearing his name on her lips erased all his self-control. In one swift motion he didn’t know he knew, he’d rolled on top of her. Her tiny frame fit neatly beneath him. Her black school robe must have already been open when they’d started, because it lay pooled on either side of her. His erection pressed into her stomach, and as he adjusted himself so it lay between her legs, his mouth recaptured hers in a hard kiss. He wasn’t going to give her the opportunity to tell him to stop this time. One hand held her free arm above her head, and her other arm was pinned beneath her own weight, caught awkwardly when he had moved her.

Impatiently, he pulled and tugged her at her blouse, until he could feel the skin of her stomach exposed. He slipped his hand under the white cotton, cupping her breast through her bra. He grabbed at her roughly, squeezing the mound of flesh, marveling at the fullness of it. He could feel her nipple through the thin material. It was hard even before he pinched it.

The smell of her surrounded him. Orange blossoms and soap and- and _arousal_. He almost screamed in pleasure. There were other smells there too that he couldn’t identify, scents that somewhere in the back of his mind he knew ordinary wizards shouldn’t be able to smell at all,  but he couldn’t pause to ponder it. Not when she was laying beneath him, wanting him.

His second hand came down to grasp her other breast, and the minute her pinned arm was free she began raining down blows to his back and shoulder, trying to push him off of her. He paused, he finally stopped his assault of her mouth long enough to look at her, and a word lit up the back of his scull like a lightning bolt. _Fear._ The other thing he had sensed and hadn’t known the name for. She was afraid of him. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but for some reason the realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Ginny…” he said, uncertainly. She had wanted him, he was positive of it. The smell of her lingering arousal still hung in the air. Why was she acting like he was the only one who needed this?

“Get off of me, Malfoy,” she said calmly. He obeyed. He rolled off of her. The minute his weight was off of her, she scrambled up out of the bed. She tugged the bottom of her shirt down to cover her mid-drift, and yanked her robes closed for good measure.

Now that he wasn’t touching her, it was easier to think. He sat up on the edge of the bed. He didn’t stand though. This way was easier to feign indifference. Besides, he was still too obviously hard to relish the idea of standing.

“You said just kissing,” she accused acidly.

“Yeah, well. You said you wouldn’t just leave me to die. Guess neither of us is entirely trust worthy.”

Her face flushed a deeper shade of red, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “What did you do to me?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Did you need an anatomy lesson? That first bit, that was called kissing and the rest-“

“ _Not that_ ,” she hissed. “I was- it- it felt like you used some kind of spell on me,” she faltered lamely at the end.

He stared at her for a moment, and then burst out laughing. It took him a few moments to collect himself. In the meantime, she’d turned an impossible shade of red.

“You mean you wanting me?” he asked, still laughing. “That was all you, Weasley. I didn’t do a damn thing.”

Her eyes flashed. His reflexes were faster, he realized, than they had been before. In the moment it had taken her to draw her wand he’d crossed the room and snatched it out of her hands, halting her just before she could hex him.

He was leaning over her, only a few inches from her face. “Are you surprised, Weasley? I told you I could make it good for you. I still could, you know.”

He reached for her face with his free hand, but she slapped it away. “If you want to make it any kind of way with anyone in the future, I suggest you not touch me,” she said, glaring.

He didn’t move. “Uptight much, Weasley? Potter must not be doing it right. I could help you relax.”

“ _Potter,_ ” she said, “is just a friend. But as far as I know, he’s never needed to blackmail any one into having sex with him. So if it comes down to you or him, I’d pick him every time.”

“Good thing you don’t get a choice then, isn’t it?” He hissed menacingly. He felt blind with rage. He knew he had baited her, but just hearing Potter’s name on her lips was maddening. She stepped back, and he realized he was scaring her again. He wanted to scream in frustration.

“I don’t understand why you have to be so stubborn,” he said, when he’d calmed himself down. “It’s not as though you’re a-”

He broke off. Merlin, how could he not have seen it before? Now that he knew, it was impossible not to see it. It all made so much more sense now.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Weasley! You’re a virgin?”

She set her chin. “It’s not-”

“Oh don’t bother lying about it,” he said.

“I wasn’t going to,” she said, glaring.

“So you’ve never had sex? Not even with Potter?”

“ _No_ ,” she bite out, clenching her teeth so hard he heard them click shut.

“God damn it,” he said. The part of him that hated Weasley and wanted to be done with this whole ordeal almost wanted to cry at this unexpected complication. The other part of him was dangerously gleeful. A virgin. She was a virgin. Untouched. He could claim her right here, and she would be his and only his. Fuck.

He handed her wand back to her. “Weasley, you should probably curse me again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hate it? Love it? Want more? Please review!


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